Chapter Ten

I hadn't been in the backyard yet. It was vibrant and colourful. Walking around the house, I was wafted with the floral scents as we followed a flagstone path. Unlike the flowers in the front garden, these ones could grow freely, stretching out their stems as high and as far as they could reach. In some places, the pathway was obscured by their leaves and stalks. I could tell there were certain sections for certain things. At the entrance to the garden were flowers, specifically tall flowers such as sunflowers, oriental lilies and other flowers that were taller than me. Beyond that, some flower beds were for herbs like mint, lavender, chilis, coriander and other odd-smelling ones I couldn't identify. In the centre of the large garden was a towering cherry blossom tree with dangling pink flowers that scraped along the ground. As I passed, I ran my hands over the branches in awe of the pink tree. The whole place seemed alive.

Gaelle continued down the path to the back of the garden. Behind the flower beds of bushes, vegetables and other flowers, a large rectangle of grass and an oversized white patio with an outdoor dining table and a cushioned lounge.

Gaelle placed the basket and tray on the table, setting up the afternoon tea as Theodore and myself sat down in different chairs. I had been sipping my mint tea the whole way here and was too distracted by the look of the backyard to thank Gaelle when she had finished.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Theodore stated.

I nodded as I turned back to him; an entire spread of sandwiches, pastries and fruit had been placed between us. Theodore took in the back garden. "Gardening seemed like such a pointless hobby to me," Theodore expressed, "Growing flowers and fanciful trees just to carve them into strange shapes to entertain guests." He smirked at the notion, "But when I got Gaelle, she loved to garden and has shown me there is a purpose to such a hobby." He picked up one of the tiny sandwiches and nibbled on the edge of it. "Did you garden much, Anya?"

I shook my head, "No. My brother had a bonsai plant once. But he left it out on the balcony too many times, and it dried up." From the patio, I could see the cherry blossom tree, "I've always wanted to get into gardening, though."

"I'd recommend it. Some flowers and herbs have medicinal as well as magical qualities. I'll see if Gaelle can find some work for you," he remarked.

I started munching on cherries as I scanned the vegetation for Gaelle. Amongst the white and pink garden, I couldn't spot her straight away, eventually finding her over by some trees that lined the left side of the garden. She was collecting apples. "Gaelle did all this by herself?" I asked.

Theodore nodded, "Well, I certainly didn't help." He started drinking from his own teacup. "All Gaelle asked from me was some earth and some seeds. She was much stronger than I initially thought she was because all I gave her were carrot seeds," he chuckled, "I have no clue where she got that cherry blossom."

"Isn't England too cold for cherry blossoms?" I inquired, "How does she keep it alive?"

"I have my theories," he gulped, replacing his teacup. "Care to hear them?'

I nodded, sitting on the edge of my seat. "Please."

"How would you describe this place, my apprentice?" he asked, "Chaotically magnificent? Beautifully wonderous?" I agreed with him as I ate a sandwich. "Gaelle isn't very expressive, so my first theory is she uses the garden to express herself. Just goes absolutely nuts with it because she's very passive. No one can tell her there's a correct way to grow a garden." I looked out to the garden, wondering if there were magical plants amongst them I had never even heard of. "Theory two; she has literally attached her soul to the soil, giving this place a warm, upbeat sense of being alive, which explains why nothing dies despite how much there is." I focused my stare on the plants, noticing strange discolourations. After a moment, they turned into insects, fairies and other winged creatures. Some I recognised, like the dragonflies that zipped around a small pond and butterflies that fluttered on the surface of flowers, but some monstrous-looking bugs unsettled me. Slowly making its way down one of the cobblestones was a fat centipede that waddled instead of scurried and was as big as a surfboard. Occasionally, I saw tan coloured rabbits sprinting in the air above the vegetables, seemingly made of light as they disappeared and reappeared randomly. "Theory three is just that I've accidentally hired Mother Nature to be my maid."

"What are those bunnies?" I asked. They seemed to be on pest control, throwing themselves against specific bugs and birds to startle them away from the vegetable patch.

"Those are Gaelle's Spirit Beasts," he stated.

I waited for him to continue, but he was leaving it there. I suppressed a sigh, "Spirit Beasts?"

Theodore blinked. "I really need to keep a syllabus or something," he murmured, "Okay. Surprise lesson; Spirit Beasts." He stood up, "In every living thing, there is a natural instinct of self-preservation." He snapped his fingers as a long outline of a fox stalked behind his legs and climbed onto the patio roof, leering down at me as it rested in the shadows. "For magical beings, Spirit Animals are manifestations of power that seek to protect and obey their yielder. They can be as real or transparent as an individual wants and can do whatever you wish." He watched his fox weave its way around the ceiling, eventually dropping back to the ground and nudging my leg. Its nose felt real, but I could see straight through it. "Gaelle's Spirit Beast are bunnies."

"Why is yours a fox?" I asked. If anything, I expected Gaelle to have a fox.

"You don't decide what your beast is," Theodore informed, "It's attached to your soul, considering personality, life experiences, fears, hopes, dreams. Everything about you goes into the ultimate design of your Spirit Beast."

The fox balanced itself on Theodore's shoulders in a pounce position as if waiting to attack. "Do I have a Spirit Animal?" I asked.

Theodore nodded as he stroked the chin of his beast, "You do, yes."

"Can I summon it?" I asked, standing. I clicked my fingers as he had, but nothing happened.

"It takes a lot of practice and control to summon your Spirit Beast," Theodore informed, "It's considered a magically draining, advanced hex." His fox jumped from his shoulders, running along the air for a moment before turning into various strings of blue light. "We'll work on summoning your beast when you're stronger," he assured, "For now, though, just be patient."

I frowned as I sat back down. Theodore copied. "I don't understand why Gaelle's beast is a bunny. How can that protect her?"

"Are you aware of the symbolism of rabbits?" Theodore asked.

I shook my head.

"Rabbits are silent creatures. They communicate through gestures, outside noise and ambience. They usually represent matters of sentiment, fertility, desires, comfort, vulnerability." As he spoke, I pondered whether I would describe Gaelle as any of those things. "They're also linked with seasons, Springtime to be exact, and close connections with Mother Earth." He gestured around to the garden to make his point. "At least, that's the significance humans have put on the animal. Gaelle is human. She would value and trust such symbolism. That is why her beast is a rabbit."

I puffed out my cheeks. "I've noticed your hints that you're not human and such, but since your animal is a fox, does that mean you hold value to what humans symbolise?" I asked.

Theodore smirked, "Truthfully? I like foxes," he informed, "I like to think I'm witty and sly, but I doubt that's the first thing that comes to mind when people describe me." He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

I considered his words for a moment before saying, "I'd describe you as wise but erratic."

His smile became honest as he looked away from me in a moment of bashfulness. "Why, thank you, my dear."

I looked back to Gaelle and watched as her bunny beasts floated around her head and nuzzled against her. She made a silent laugh as she petted one before sending it away again.

"Why doesn't Gaelle talk?" I asked, watching as Gaelle kneeled to the vegetable garden.

"I think she just doesn't have anything to say," Theodore replied.

I decided to pry. "Why, though?"

Theodore paused again, this time his stony expression lingering in his deep thought. "Gaelle is out of place in this time," he eventually told me, "Do you know much about the Salem Witch Trials?"

I considered the title, while familiar I had only heard it in passing, but it didn't sound pleasant. "The Salem witch trials," Theodore continued, "were a series of hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft in Massachusetts between February 1692 and May 1693. Many women were hung, burnt or drowned after being falsely accused. It could be because of the colour of their hair, a mental disease, what type of cats liked to hang around them, and so on. Gaelle was part of this black auction ring a while back, where someone went back in time, plucked her straight from the witch trials and brought her here."

I widened my eyes, "That's horrible."

"That depends on your perspective, now, doesn't it?" Theodore countered.

"But what about family? Her friends? Didn't her life matter?" I asked.

"Not to the village she was raised in," Theodore's voice became sadder, "Not to the men who sought her hand in marriage, nor the gossipy women who claimed to be her friends. Many of the witch trial claims were hocus-pocus, people claiming to have made deals with demons and pacts with the devil in exchange for evil magic; many instances were not true. Most demons don't have the power to give a human their magic, and there were hardly any humans back then that could endure such magic. But Gaelle and a handful of others were the genuine articles, a mage cursed with powers beyond her time."

"Why is she a maid if she has magic? Can't she do more with her life?" I asked.

Theodore shook his head, "When she was brought to this time, she was brainwashed into thinking she was in debt to a demon and signed a blood contract that bound her to hospitable duties for one thousand years."

I gasped, "One thousand years?"

Theodore nodded, "Yes." He sighed but didn't seem displeased or exasperated by the information. "Bringing things from the past into the future is illegal on so many different levels, so genuine Witch Trial Mages were a rare feat. She bounced around to a few people, doing God knows what, until I won her in a high-stakes game of poker." He lifted his tea to his lips. "Best game I ever cheated on."

I looked at Gaelle in a new light. "How much longer is her contract?"

Theodore sighed sadly, "It restarts every time she changes hands, unfortunately. She's still got over nine hundred years left."

I had a strange feeling weighing down in my chest that took me a while to label: envy. Had you asked me a few days ago, I would have hands down loved to be taken from my time, from my world, and placed somewhere new, anywhere new. As the thought occurred, I quickly realised Gaelle and I were similar. I had a contract that went to an unspecified time, a piece of paper I hadn't even thoroughly read before signing that had me give up my rights as an individual. But somehow, there was something more romantic about Gaelle's circumstances, or much more terrifying.

"Why didn't you make her your mage?" I wondered, "If she's an old-style mage, wouldn't that be more convenient for you?"

Theodore made a half-smile. "Gaelle scares me," he put simply, "Horrifies at times with what I know she can do. She doesn't need my help controlling her powers or understanding who she is. She's aware, perhaps even more than I am of myself."

Was it possible to hear the envy in someone's voice?

"There's something special about magic from over a hundred years ago," he droned absently, "Modern, trained Mages are no match for her raw, unadulterated centuries-old magic. I've seen her fend off platoons of sorcerers and magical folk who wished to do me harm, reducing them down to nothing more than whimpering buffoons." He drained his teacup of its contents and made a content sigh, "I take apprentices to learn, to teach. Gaelle doesn't need my help with anything. And besides, she makes a much more effective housemaid."

I looked back to Gaelle to watch her dusting off the carrots she was pulling from the ground. She seemed dainty and delicate, only capable of creating a type of fear one feels with their mother's or a nanny. But the longer I stared, the more I believed it. There was much certainty, a sense of purpose with every movement and gesture she made.

It was very rare I was jealous of people. But at that moment, I was more jealous of Gaelle than anyone in my whole life.

*

Gaelle was a surprisingly good teacher.

She spoke through gestures and touch, taking my hands and running them over leaves and petals, having me feel the roughness of tomato stalks but the smooth texture of Mulberry bush leaves. With certain plants, she emphasised the use of gloves, handing me some whenever she handled spiky stemmed purple flowers and meticulously taking them off me whenever she showed me a safer plant.

She handed me an adorable watering can the shape of a turtle, the water coming out of its mouth like a water gun. I would splash water over some flowers, and before I could on some vibrant red one, she tipped the watering can up, so I couldn't pour. She dipped her hand into the watering can, so her fingertips were wet and flicked the water onto the scarlet petals. They fizzled and gave off a rank stench of smoke and ash before wilting slightly.

She fed me a lot of her plants, even ones that I never would consider eating, like a spiky green shell fruit that turned out to be remarkably sweet and floret petals that were delicate on my taste buds.

Eventually, I grew tired and wanted to rest, but Gaelle enjoyed showing me things, taking me from one place to the next. I didn't have the heart to leave her company. "Having fun, you two?" Theodore asked while we sat under the cherry blossom tree.

I nodded, "There are so many more plants than I thought," I confessed, sitting down at the base of the tree.

Theodore smiled, "Gaelle has enjoyed your company immensely, Anya," he said, "But I think it's time you rest. Perhaps have some alone time." Gaelle dipped her head and continued with her gardening duties, leaving me with Theodore.

"Some alone time?"

Theodore nodded as he took his hat off. "As I said yesterday, you have your own hobbies, you are your own person, and I recognise you may want to have some alone time. Perhaps a nap or do some reading," he informed, "I've got some business of my own to finish, which will take up most of the afternoon. Please, don't run off."

I stared up at him in silence. "I won't."

He came down to my size and repeated, "Please."

Concern. I could hear concern laced with Theodore's tone. I nodded, "I won't."

Theodore nodded before rising and going back into the cottage. I pondered what he said, wondering why he felt the need to tell me not to run off. Did Theodore think I'd run away? Or was there something out there he didn't trust me with?

I scanned the bushland for any sign of someone watching, but aside from the floating bunnies, nothing emerged from the bushes. I went inside and straight up the stairs to sleep.

I crawled to the corner of my bed and hugged a pillow to myself. I was recently tired, but now that I was lying down, I felt strangely alert. I rolled around for a bit, finding invisible lumps in the mattress no matter where I laid down. I sat up and looked out the window by the bed, opening the glass to peer out to the dirt road. I rested my head on my arms as I watched one car roll by, its engine spitting and crackling as it went.

In the field where Theodore and I laid last night, I saw a small group of cows munching on the grass, content with themselves. The sun had started going down, turning the afternoon sky a peach-orange, beginning to turn purple.

I slid off my bed and looked to the bookcase, wondering where the book Gaelle had played for me was sitting. I scanned the titles of each of the books, half of them didn't have their names on the spines, forcing me to pull some out to figure out what it was.

Amongst the title-less novels, I found one with no indication of a title at all. It was a leather-bound book with an elegant bronze seal stretched across the cover and pages like vines. The metal was warm in my hands, and the book was massive. The sheets were thick, and the spine was cracked.

I attempted to peel back the metal, but they clutched on like talons. I couldn't find a keyhole or any sort of instruction on how to open it. I placed the book on the desk and sat down, pondering how to open this mysterious book.

The bronze seal in the centre of the cover had a spiral pattern, strangely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. It was in the room Theodore gave me, so was I allowed in this book? Was it locked for a particular reason?

I held the book close to my chest as I walked down the stairs in search of Theodore. I found him in the living room, his back to me as he hunched over a table. All the lights had been switched off, and the outline of his body seemed more prominent than usual. I tilted my head as I approached him, "Theodore?"

I yelped when a night bulb popped in its socket.

In one smooth motion, all the lights in the room turned on, and Theodore was already in the process of unscrewing the broken bulb, his size significantly shrunken. "Something the matter, Anya?" he asked, examining the sharp edge of the glass.

I looked over to the table in the dark corner. "What were you doing?" I asked. I saw the outlines of measuring cups, vials, glasses in the dim light, and the room smelt distinctly like bubble gum.

"Just some freelance work." He opened a box on the fireplace and took out a fresh light bulb. I wondered how often this happened.

"Freelance?"

"Little jobs for people who want specific things," Theodore clarified, "Smaller tasks. I'll show you if you'd like."

I nodded, placing the book down and approached his desk. "Some people are aware of my skills and may send requests asking me to do certain things. What I'm working on right now is an elixir to rid one of the nightmares." He pulled up a stool for himself and me.

"You can make something like that?" I asked.

"Yep." He turned on a light on the desk to reveal his scientific-looking spread. Bunsen burners were heating up different coloured liquid, small containers of dried herbs, animal limbs like frog legs and rabbit feet, and a small bundle of sage. "The combination of science and magic is remarkable."

A potion to be rid of nightmares…? I picked up the sage and examined it, "How do you make it?"

"Bit of charm, a bit of lavender, pinch of Mandrake, a lot of water, melatonin," He saw I wasn't following and altered his sentence, "A bunch of little things."

"Will I learn how to make this?" I asked as I sniffed the sage. It was remarkably sweet-smelling.

"If you want to, I can teach you," he informed, taking the sage from me. "Always nice to have someone help with potions."

"Isn't that why I'm here anyway?" I quizzed.

"Among other reasons," Theodore replied, his eyes made a strange pulse of colour. "I'll explain while I do."

Even though he was doing the potion by memory, he pulled out a stack of papers from a drawer, tied together by some red string, and leafed through them until he found 'Nightmare Deterrence Elixir.' It was a handwritten document in black ink. He placed the paper in front of me and spoke as he concocted.

I scanned the ingredients list of the potion, noting things like Amber Dust, various herb concoctions ranging from basil to tobacco, stuff I had never heard of like Moon Milk, Star Glaze and tears of elves. His face went stony as he focused on his work, at times forgetting I was here and skipping steps as he mixed the potion.

When he was done, he had made a creamy blue potion gently steaming in a small pot. Theodore let me lean over it and smell it; it was odourless.

"There are different ways to administer this. You can drink it, soak something in it or bathe in it," Theodore explained as he pulled a small square of paper from a pinboard resting against the wall. "Madame Verla has ordered one vial and a soaked Dreamcatcher for her young child."

"How does soaking work?" I asked.

"You may not be able to smell it, but it doesn't mean it's not there," he informed, "You probably won't have nightmares tonight because of your exposure through smell and pores." He pulled a small cabinet from under the desk and placed it on its clustered surface, pushing aside some beakers and empty glasses. "People usually have soaked items when they give them to children because this stuff leaves a bitter aftertaste that if you're not prepared for makes you quite sick." He pulled out a small dreamcatcher; it would fit in the palm of my hand. "It lasts longer but isn't as strong. Infants and young kids don't need much, though." He looped some fishing rod string on the end of the dreamcatcher ribbon and lowered it in the mixture. "We'll let that soak for an hour or so, and it'll be good to send away."

"Any chance you could make one for me?" I requested.

Theodore tilted his head, "I didn't know you had nightmares."

My nightmares were never visual, always audible. I'd stand in complete darkness with nothing but taunts and shouts of how much of a freak I was, how disappointing, crazy, weird, strange I was. I could cover my ears, but it wouldn't work. Eventually, I learned how to wake myself up. For some reason, it was always in a cold sweat.

"Nightmare," I corrected. I looked down at the elixir, watching as bubbles formed and popped, "I'd rather not talk about it."

I felt his hand rest on my back in a comforting pat. "How ironic do you want?" He asked. The question confused me. "I can give you a Dreamcatcher, a flower, a candle. What can I make you?"

I shrugged, "I don't mind."

His expression dropped as he thought of something, his focus disrupted by a gentle ringing sound. I thought Marcello had followed us back to the cottage, but Gaelle stood in the doorway with a gold bell, gently waving it around to alert us to something.

Theodore clasped his hands, "Look at the time. Gaelle's already finished dinner." He rose from his chair, "Shall we?"